


DV8

by DementedPixie



Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [11]
Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: M/M, Older Lads (The Professionals)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22639657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie
Summary: Bodie and Doyle enjoy a Sunday lunchtime pint in SohoPLEASE DO NOT RE-POST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264832
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	DV8

**Author's Note:**

> My name is Demented Pixie and I’m a Pros fan, but that hasn’t always been my name. If you knew me as In Love With Both and you’re a friend, then you’ll already know why I left the fandom some years back. But, hey, a girl can change her mind, and I have therefore decided to re-share my Professionals fanfiction on this amazing Archive – no changes, no improvements, no alterations. I’ll be posting them just as they were written. No comments, no trolls, and no betas. Just me and my stories. I’m sharing them so that they can take their place in the archive, but I’m also sharing them for the Pros generation, for those future generations yet to discover Bodie and Doyle, and for Sandra, who has never ceased waving pompoms for all Pros fanfiction writers.  
> The following story was written by me in 2011.

DV8

By ILWB

It was early for a Sunday, although some might call it late as the nightclubs had only kicked their last punters out a few hours ago. As Bodie and Doyle approached the pub the bolts were drawn back and the large doors swung inwards, meaning they were the first customers of the day. Doyle made straight for their favourite corner while Bodie waited for the barman to take the towels off the pumps. 

Comptons always reminded Bodie of a Wild West saloon what with its huge bar area, high ceilings and ornate decor. He glanced up at the sweeping staircase, half expecting Calamity Jane to appear any minute. 

“Two pints of bitter, please,” he said, eyeing the barman appreciatively as he bent over to pick up clean glasses from a low shelf behind the bar. Tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt seemed to be standard uniform for Soho bar staff these days, not that Bodie was complaining. 

He paid up, smiling at the way the young man’s fingers lingered in the palm of Bodie’s hand as the change was dropped in. Then he carried their pints over to the table in the corner where Doyle was already busy spreading out the Sunday newspaper. 

Bodie gave Doyle his drink then sat down on the couch next to him, settling comfortably close and resting his head back on the cool leather. 

He loved Sundays. 

“Cheers, mate,” said Doyle, taking the top off his pint. “Pulled again, have you?” 

“Naturally,” said Bodie, smugly. “Still got it.”

“Well make sure you keep it to yourself, cos I don’t want to catch it.” Doyle passed him the sports pages, making a point of waving the Liverpool 1, Derby County 2 review in his face. 

Refusing to allow his team’s poor performance to spoil his day, Bodie dropped the sports section on the seat next to him and settled back for his favourite hobby; people watching. 

Second favourite hobby, after sex. 

Third favourite hobby, after sex and football.

Fourth favourite hobby after...

Bodie smiled.

From their corner he had the perfect view of the rest of the pub and as Doyle read his way through the mountain of Sunday supplements, Bodie spied on the assembling clientele with interest. So many hangovers needing the hair plucked from such a wide variety of dogs. Muscle men, bears, jaded twinks and even a Tom of Finland look alike all mingled through the bar, filling it with a pleasing buzz and a sense of togetherness. The pretty young man in the gold lamѐ hot pants and angel wings hardly caused a ripple as he queued up for his vodka and orange.

Oh, how the times had changed.

The lack of spare seats meant that Bodie and Doyle couldn’t expect to retain their privacy for long and sure enough they were soon joined by three women who squeezed together on the remaining bench. Bodie looked them over, trying to work them out. Lesbians usually went to G-A-Y these days. Or were they innocent shoppers who hadn’t realised what pub they were in? Ah, one was wearing a ‘Pride’ band on her wrist. Not innocent shoppers, then. 

He leant back against the seat and slipped his hand into Doyle’s, noticing how his partner was now concentrating on the Entertainment section, probably deciding on another show for them to go to. 

He and Doyle weren’t the oldest men in the room, although they weren’t far off. But Bodie knew they still had ‘it’. In their mid 60s now they both kept fit and active, both had their own hair and teeth and, more to the point, they were both still alive. And that was something he wouldn’t have bet on 30 years ago. 

Bodie’s mind drifted back thirty years mulling over how much the times had changed, how much Soho itself had changed. Back then it was all prostitutes and pimps, seedy peep shows and Vice Squad busts. A no go area at night and not a place for respectable folk to be seen at any time. Slowly Soho had become more and more of a predominately gay area until nowadays you could walk down the street hand in hand with a partner of the same sex and hardly turn heads at all. 

Slowly the gay community made the area their own so that now it had become a safe home from home for a group of people who had previously felt isolated and discriminated against. 

He thought back to the day the Admiral Duncan had been nail-bombed. Bodie had arranged to meet up with Doyle in a pub on the next street and panicked when he couldn’t immediately find him, imagining all sorts. Three people had lost their lives that day, shocking the world. But now so much had changed that it was sometimes hard to believe that being gay was once against the law, that men risked imprisonment for what they were now openly doing on the friendly streets of Soho. 

One day all of this will be history, everyone will be accepted for who they are and not labelled as one thing or another. One day soon ‘Gay Marriage’ will just be known as ‘Marriage’. 

It’s not a choice, it’s the way we’re built. 

Bodie sighed. 

The sigh caught Doyle’s attention who looked up at him, closing the paper. “Prowler?” Doyle asked.

“Prowler,” agreed Bodie. Doyle always knew exactly how to cheer Bodie up and a trip to Prowler was a dead cert. 

Always proud of his ability to judge good character, Bodie leant over towards the three chatting women. “Ladies,” he said, interrupting them. “We’re just popping out, won’t be five minutes. Would you mind watching our stuff?”

Rewarded by three matching blushes and an assurance that nobody would touch anything, he and Doyle walked out into the sunshine of the day.

Now that lunchtime was here Old Compton Street was buzzing, displaying to the world its Cosmopolitan best. People were sat outside cafes drinking coffee or eating ice creams, and the parade up and down the street was in full flow. A sunny Sunday really did bring everybody out. Gay couples walking hand in hand or arm in arm; men being greeted by their friends with kisses, sometimes one, sometimes two; the usual bizarre collection of little dogs wearing designer clothes and diamond encrusted collars. 

The two ex CI5 agents strolled easily down the centre of the road, mixing with the crowd and still receiving their fair share of appreciative glances despite the advancing years. 

Nodding to the security guard on the door Doyle led Bodie into Prowler, weaving their way over to the underwear section. 

Doyle picked up a very expensive pair of bright yellow pants that had been made with two plastic zips, one at the front, one at the back. He held them up for Bodie to inspect.

“Not my colour,” said Bodie, pulling a face.

Doyle quickly exchanged them for a pair of blue ones and held them up again. 

“Too dangerous,” said Bodie. “All those zips.”

Without saying a word Doyle replaced them on the rack and exchanged them for a black leather pair with no zips at all. He held them up, an enquiring smirk on his face.

“Look at the price!” said Bodie, incredulously. “Mr Cowley wouldn’t be impressed, you spending your CI5 pension on a pair of black leather pants.”

“Pension, my arse,” said Doyle. “Or your arse, come to that. Buy me a surprise while I pay for these?”

He made his way over to the counter while Bodie scoured the shelves for something appropriate. Liquorice flavoured condoms...no; fake tattoos...no; nude rugby players calendar...no; tube of lube, extra slippery...no. Ah. That’s the one. Proud of his choice, Bodie went over to the counter to pay for the tin of mints that said ‘Snog Me’. The perfect gift. 

Shopping done, Bodie and Doyle strolled back to the Pub and pushed through the crowds to their seats where of course nothing had been moved, not even a bubble in the froth on Bodie’s beer. 

“Thank you very much, ladies,” said Doyle, throwing them a charming smile which got them all blushing again. 

One of the women noticed the Prowler carrier bag and coughed, nervously. “Er, excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for somewhere where I could buy a good book, something artistic, nudes, couples, you know?”

Doyle looked sideways at Bodie who appeared to be having trouble stifling a grin. “Yes, I can think of somewhere,” said Doyle, but before he could continue Bodie interrupted him. 

“You want Number 50,” said Bodie. “Just over the road, down from the Duncan.” Doyle pushed his knee against Bodie’s to try to stop him but Bodie just pushed back. “Go downstairs,” continued Bodie. “I’m sure you’ll find something nice.”

“Oh, thank you,” said the woman, then she and her friends finished their drinks and with a friendly goodbye, they left. 

Doyle looked across at Bodie. “You just sent them to DV8,” he said. 

“I know,” said Bodie, a look of glee on his face. 

“But that’s all leather fetish gear and whips and stuff.”

“I know that too.”

Doyle paused, looking straight into the twinkling eyes of his partner. “You little Devil.”


End file.
